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VTR

Chapter 2               A Visit From E vil
    Monday 1 5 th February 2010
    Bung , or whoever was organizing this little trip, had booked us into one of the more anonymous chain hotel s . It was all dark purple walls, dim lighting, windows that were secured against opening more than an inch ‘for my safety and convenience’, and weird semi abstract art which as far as I could guess had been chosen on a corporate inoffensiveness agenda rather than any artistic merit , and were intended to be maroon trees. Either that or it really was a row of lollypops.
    We had what counted as a suite so we were sharing a room. I g uess Bung didn’t want me tiptoeing out and away into the night . H e really was intent on keeping an eye on me.
    On the plus side, it was clean, it had decent sized bed s and enough space to dump our junk . I t was also slap bang on the edge of what had been the main shopping centre before a huge silver UFO of a shopping mall had sprouted like a mushroom just on the other side of the town beside the inner ring road. So it wasn’t far to walk to find a pizza and to have the club’s bank account buy us a few beers each .
    I n the morning I stood in the joke of a bath and blasted myself awake under the stinging jets of scalding hot water, while as usual the shower curtain tried to cling to me every time I moved. Then I sandpapered myself dry on the yard or so of towel supplied , which I decided to dump in the bathroom for replacement rather than helping them to save the planet and their laundry bills .
    T hen we went to jail.
    I couldn’t escape , after all where could I go ? Where could I run to? They’d already proved they could find me when I tried to get away. I had no ID, other than the papers that they had given me, no cash, other than the amount in the account that they controlled, and to cap it all I was still a wanted man on whom they had a ton of manufactured, but very persuasive, forensic evidence stashed away.
    But then, for the moment, I didn’t think I actually needed to. If they had wanted to kill me, they’d have done so already was what I clung on to . Not the most comforting of thoughts perhaps , but at the moment, probably the best I’d got or could hope for.
    *
    The re was no tearing rush , so we could take our time about it. Even though there was political pressure on to have a swift trial , it wouldn’t actually make much difference to the way the Court machinery ground through things and we all knew it would take the CPS w eeks and more probably months to get their act together sufficiently to bring the bikers to trial . Meanwhile , having been refused bail at an initial hearing they were be ing held on remand in legal limbo until the trial was over.
    Sadly, despite th e fact that it would take place at Reading Crown Court , they weren’t being held at Reading jail which would have seemed the logical choice. But these days, despite the grim appearance of its high blank exterior walls and the gothic Victorian edifice whose roofs peered out over the top, it was just a young offender’s institution. It was a pity. I’d always fancied going there to have a look round, Oscar Wilde and all that, but never had the occasion to do so whil e I’d been reporting for the rag.
    Instead, t he bikers were being held at a couple of the local jails pending the setting of a trial date. So Charlie and some of the crew were at Grendon, just outside Aylesbury. Wibble and the rest meanwhile w ere only a few junctions away up the M40 at Bullingdon, just North East of Oxford and out towards Bicester and Long Crendon .
    So , as Bung and I made our leisurely way down to reception after breakfast to wait for our ride, it l ooked as though we were going to be a pair of commuter s for the next few days.
    ‘ A h, here he is, ’ said Bung cheerfully, as almost immediately a car drew up in front of the doors and we stepped out of the warmth of the lobby and into the chilly grey damp of the car